After The Meeting
by lalapine
Summary: Alternate conclusion to "Gethsemane"


TITLE - After The Meeting  
AUTHOR - Tammy M. Parnell  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LaLapine@aol.com  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, as long as my name & disclaimer are on it  
SPOILER WARNING: Gethsemane, Elegy, Beyond the Sea, Pusher, One Breath  
RATING: PG  
CLASSIFICATION: S, A, R, X  
SUMMARY: Conclusion to Gethsemane (MSR)  
DISCLAIMER: The various songs, quotes, etc. are not mine, nor am I making any money from them; credits are given where they are used. The characters belong to THEM. I am only borrowing them without evil intentions. In the end, THEY will do as THEY please with our beloved heroes. But in the meantime...  
  
  
After The Meeting  
by Tammy M. Parnell  
  
The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way. Oh, the last time how clearly you see everything; as though a magnifying light had been turned on it. And you grieve because you hadn't held it tighter when you had it everyday.  
  
Dana repeated those words aloud in a whisper, gently setting on her coffee table what had been her favorite book as a child. _A Tree Grows In Brooklyn_ always seemed to reveal something new upon each reading, but this time, it felt especially poignant.  
  
She absently traced the well-worn cover with her smooth fingertips, remembering when her mother had given her this book on her twelfth birthday. Dana had loved its heroine, Francie, and had always felt a connection with the character as both of them experienced the trials and tribulations of growing up. But tonight, more than ever before, did Francie's observation ring true.  
  
Yes, Dana had held on during her four-year roller coaster ride of being Fox Mulder's partner. The X-Files division had brought its fair share of turbulence to her former, comparatively sedate lifestyle, not to mention how it had affected her family, one fewer for her involvement. But she had held on, had put complete faith her her partner, in his trust. But it wasn't, nor had it ever been, as tight as she should have. There were so many things left unsaid, so much grief that lay in her heart as she sat alone in her apartment during the end of the most emotionally draining day of her life.  
  
Dana pulled the afghan around her slim form more tightly, her face especially pale, her body weaker than her doctor would have liked. Whether it was from the ever spreading cancer invading her bloodstream or simply from the strain of what she had gone through that day, she had no desire to move from her corner of the couch. The sun had set hours earlier, and the only light in her well-kept living room was emanating from the small lamp which rested on an end table near the sofa's arm.   
  
It was the time of night when thought was possible, almost tauntingly so. Her day had been a whirlwind of activity from the nightmarish phone call that morning, till the blur of the board meeting that afternoon. The cold words she spoke had been more of a recitation, a speech of what she knew they wanted to hear, rather than any true account. Words strung together from memory of that supposed EBE corpse that had been discovered in the Yukon, one that Mulder would have done anything to prove authentic, were spun like a web for her audience, adding a few facts about her inevitable demise for special effect. No, none of the facts she had spoken of had been a lie. Even her memories of family difficulties were painfully true.   
  
It was her entire presence there that was the lie. For them to believe that she would betray her best friend's confidences, his memory, they must have been quite arrogant. They wanted to believe she would give up on him as much as Mulder wanted to believe in EBEs. But she was simply playing along. She had been able to block out the indelible image of her partner's bloody body as she recounted events of the week, hoping that for them to believe in her discrediting of the X-Files, she would have a chance to find out the truth. Truth about the EBE, truth about her cancer, and truth about Mulder.  
  
It wasn't until the end of her recitation that it had hit her. When she had to tell them that they had succeeded, that she had helped in fact by blaming him for her disease, that Mulder was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound--that's when her scientific detachment began to waver. She had felt her voice straining in an attempt to remain professional, but her words were shaky, her eyes moist. She'd managed to keep the tears from falling, but she knew they could see. They knew her weakness, and they had used it to their advantage. But now she would use them in return, if only they would believe her evident betrayal.  
  
Dana touched the lamp's stand, bathing the room in darkness. Sliding down the cushions, she rested her head on a pillow at the end, closing her eyes. Sleep would not come tonight, she knew, as exhausted as she was. She vaguely wondered if sleep would ever come again, if she would be plagued by nightmares of the day's events. Everything had gone by in a daze, no time for thought. But now, as she lay in her dark apartment, thoughts crept into her strained mind.  
  
Those last words said to her partner in a desperate attempt to make him listen hit her first. They gave me this disease to make you believe. She would never forget the look of hurt, guilt, pain, anger, and sorrow that had bathed his face at her words. It would have been more merciful, she thought ruefully, to have taken out her gun and finished the job they had started. But no, he had taken care of that himself.  
  
His apartment overrun with policemen hit her next, a white sheet draped over her partner's body. She imagined what it had felt like to hold the cold steel to his forehead and pull the trigger. Was it soothing to know that all your pain would be ended? Or did you think of people who you were leaving behind?  
  
Dana swallowed the lump that came to her throat. Mulder had had no one. With his sister's disappearance, his father's murder, and his mother's apathy, Dana had been the only one left. Then she had betrayed him as well.  
  
But he couldn't have thought that, she whispered aloud, hoping to make it sound more true. He should have known I didn't blame him. He wouldn't have killed himself that way, knowing I would be the one to I.D. him. He wouldn't have put me through that kind of pain. And he sure as hell wouldn't leave me to die without him.  
  
The thought of that last statement struck her as rather selfish, but as much as she had continually pushed him away when it came to dealing with her health, she had never imagined him not being there for her when she would need him most. She knew had she explained to him at the Smithsonian that her cancer was spreading, no matter how convincing the evidence in the Yukon, he would never have left her.  
  
But he did leave me, she said quietly, painfully. She knew he often jumped head first into things, acting without thought until it became necessary to explain officially what had led him to the particular case. Dana had saved him and kept him grounded more times than she could remember, but she knew that no matter how much wind she put into trying to knock some common sense into him, his beliefs often won out over logic. He was always impulsive, she knew, and this suicide was obviously no exception.  
  
The if onlys were hitting her now. If only I hadn't told him about why they gave me the cancer. If only I had accepted his beliefs without question. If only I'd told him the cancer was metastasizing. If only I had gone to his apartment last night to talk as I had wanted to, to explain, to reassure. If only I wasn't so damn stubborn and hadn't refused to share my fear. If only we hadn't drifted apart. If only we had told each other everything we thought, instead of editing out the parts we were afraid the other wouldn't want to hear. If only we had allowed ourselves some time to just be friends, without the X-Files. If only I had told him I loved him, that he was the source of my strength....  
  
She felt a warm drop of blood fall onto her hand, which rested under her cheek. It was a signal of sorts, a breaking of the dam. After all she had been through that day, she had not allowed herself to indulge in her grief. But now, finally the tears seeped out, quickly turning into choking sobs that racked her small body, mourning for the loss of her best friend and the circumstances which had brought him to such a desperate end.  
  
***  
  
A heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating just the same.  
  
Dana's swollen eyes opened slowly, the memory of this line from _Fried Green Tomatoes_ hitting her painfully. He's gone, she thought next, empty. Slowly, she raised herself to a sitting position, feeling like she'd gotten wasted the night before, though she hadn't even bothered with eating yesterday, much less going to the trouble of buying alcohol.  
  
The image of the girl hit her next, her neck slashed and bloody. And then Harold's familiar face in her rearview mirror. And her father... She had seen them all in their last moments, a signal of their impending deaths. But she had not seen Mulder.  
  
She opened her eyes wide then, against their protests of exposure to the sunlight streaming into the apartment. Mulder, a man to whom she was closer than she had been to anyone, someone who knew her better than she knew herself, and she had not seen him.  
  
It's not like you're a psychic, Dana, she scolded herself. And you didn't even see your own sister. But they hadn't exactly been close. A phone call now and again, maybe lunch and movie every so often, but that was the extent of their sisterly relationship. Mulder, on the other hand, she had been with Mulder nearly every day, for hours on end, and she had not seen him.  
  
She stood carefully, pulling two kitchen chairs away from the table and positioning them face to face as she had tried to do when her father died. She grinned briefly, in spite of herself, imagining Mulder's reaction to see her this desperate. Hands in her lap, she sat in one of the chairs, concentrating.  
  
Ten minutes later, she knew it wasn't going to work. And why should it? she accused herself. It didn't work with Dad, either. Besides, you see people before they die, not after. But the fact still remained, she had not seen Mulder.  
  
Sighing, Dana went through her morning routine of making coffee, showering, and getting dressed. She knew she wasn't expected to go to work, but she was well aware that the flashing light on her answering machine signaled numerous messages from her worried mother. If nothing else, she had to go see her, assure her she was okay.  
  
That's right, Dana, she told herself, not even caring. Lie to Mom. Again. See if you can drive her to suicide as well.  
  
Her thoughts shocked her, but she quickly shook them from her head as she put on her coat. She willed herself not to cry, leaving her apartment to be in a world that no longer held in its tenuous grasp Fox Mulder.  
  
***  
  
Lately I've been trying  
To fill up my days since you're gone  
The speed of love is blinding  
And I didn't know how to hold on  
My mind won't clear  
I'm out of tears  
My heart's got no room left inside...  
  
Dana rubbed at her temples, ignoring the all-too-appropriate lyrics to a new Richard Marx song that came to mind. Her mother had gone to the kitchen to refill their tea mugs, and Dana was exhausted. What effort it had taken to assure her mother that she was fine had been in vain. In the end, Dana had let her hold her in her arms, feeling very much like the lonely little girl who had come home from kindergarten one day in tears for being called carrot top. She had not cried this time, however, had only taken comfort in the protective embrace. But her adult troubles could hardly be mothered away.  
  
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and she suspected it was her brother, whom Maggie had told her was due to come by that morning. He greeted her with a smile and a hug. Hypocrite, Dana thought briefly. After all, just a few days earlier he had given her a guilt trip for putting their mother under stress. And he had asked a rather painful question as to the whereabouts of her partner during her illness. Well, it was none of his damn business! She knew why Mulder had not been there; she had insisted he remain at a distance, that awful distance that had slowly wedged itself between them since even before her diagnosis.  
  
Dana, you okay? Bill asked with a concerned frown.  
  
Fine. Don't worry about me, she replied quickly as she reseated herself on the couch. He followed suit.  
  
Mom told me about your partner, he began awkwardly. I'm sorry.  
  
Something inside her snapped. He had no right to talk to her about this, no right to say his name when he had not known him, nor had he liked him. No you're not, she said, her eyes steely blue as they looked intensely into his. You couldn't care less.  
  
That's not true, Dana. I know he was important to you.  
  
How dare you? How dare you come in here and give me this bullshit when just the other day you were accusing him of not supporting me?!  
  
Bill was getting impatient with his strong-willed sister. He didn't, did he? He left you. What kind of coward would do that?  
  
Of all the things he had been called, no one had ever accused Mulder of being a coward. Dana once again fell into her familiar role as defender and protector, partner and friend. You couldn't possibly understand.  
  
Why isn't he here?  
  
She stood. Butt out, Bill. The words were slow and deliberate. Most on the receiving end of such a tone in Dana Scully's voice would have walked away rather than face the challenge.  
  
Even Bill was tempted to drop the subject at hand, but he felt she needed to deal with the things she was hiding from her family, and this seemed to be at the heart of the matter. Where was he when you found out about your cancer spreading?  
  
He respected me enough to do as I wished and not hover. Not that he wouldn't have if I had told him....  
  
He went a long way to keep that promise, didn't he? Okay, Bill, he admitted to himself, that was a little below the belt. But the damage had been done.  
  
You don't get it. Her voice was wavering. You can't.  
  
Stop while you're ahead, Bill, he warned himself, but he was on a roll. He was angry over Dana's illness and upset that she was defending this guy who had obviously caused her a lot of pain. He's the reason Missy died, he continued. He's the reason you're dying.  
  
was all she could say, shaking her head. Fox Mulder was a good man. A better man than you could ever hope to be.  
  
What did he have on you, Dana? Why are you defending him?  
  
What did he have on me? she thought. Just my entire heart and soul. Shut up, she said in a menacing whisper. You just shut up, Bill.  
  
Maggie entered from the kitchen, a worried expression dimming her features. Bill? What's going on?  
  
Bill just shook his head, knowing she would not be happy to learn how he'd aggravated his sister. But Dana's usually tightly controlled face was an open book as she spoke, a plea in her voice for their mother to make him comprehend. Mom, he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand.  
  
Understand what, sweetie? Her daughter was obviously agitated, and judging from the guilty look on Bill's face, she'd guess she had ample reason.  
  
Bill interrupted then, his anger and frustration finally finding a scapegoat. About that jerk that she worked with.  
  
Dana's self-control had been extremely taxed the previous day, and any strand she had remaining was shredded with Bill's vocal attack. She flew at him, fists pounding his chest. A bit taken aback, he suffered some harsh blows before he thought to try and grasp her wrists.  
  
Stop it! Maggie yelled, trying to pull her daughter away. Dana, no. She finally succeeded in her task and was disturbed to note that Dana's distraught expression had been replaced with anger. She was breathing heavily, and the eyes directed at her brother were cold.  
  
Still staring at him, she shook her mother's arm off her own. I'm going for a walk, she said through clenched teeth.  
  
Call me, honey, Maggie said after the quickly retreating figure, knowing she could not help. Dana didn't answer as the door shut firmly behind her.  
  
Maggie turned to her son, who had sat with a sigh onto the sofa. I'm sorry, Mom.  
  
You should be apologizing to your sister, not me.  
  
She doesn't realize what she's doing to this family, he defended.  
  
Bill, I think you've greatly underestimated her.  
  
What about this Mulder guy? If he's so wonderful, why did he kill himself?  
  
She shook her head in disbelief. Bill, I cannot believe you would use that against your sister. It's just about the only thing that could cause her to break down like this. She is so strong, so independent.  
  
Then why'd he do it? He'd be here if he cared.  
  
Maggie sighed, sympathizing with his protective instincts, but wondering how to make him understand. You weren't here, Bill. You didn't see what I did.  
  
I've heard. I've heard that Dana was abducted, and now she's dying. And it's his fault.  
  
Bill, you have to realize something. When Dana was missing, it nearly did Fox in. You know the cross she always wears? The one I gave her on her sixteenth birthday? Well, I told him to hold on to it for her. He didn't stuff it in a drawer somewhere, Bill. He didn't even carry it in his pocket. He wore it. He kept it on for three months, until she was found and woke up. He believed in her when all of us had given up. We Scullys are grounded in reality, even Dana. If we accept something, it's easier in the long run. Fox is--was--different. His whole being ached to believe in things, almost foolishly. He was hurt a lot in his lifetime, and when it came to the people he loved, he refused to accept defeat. His loyalty ran strong, and I saw just how much your sister meant to him. Don't underestimate his love. It's not any less real than ours. They had, I'm sure they still have, a special bond, one I cannot even begin to understand.  
  
Mom, I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe that if he cared so much he would kill himself. He had to know how much that would hurt her.  
  
Maggie sighed, not sure herself how to feel about the matter, just knowing she, too, was feeling his loss. Maybe he thought it was for the best. He was full of self-doubt and guilt; Dana told me something she said to him, her last words to him, poor thing. I don't think she'll ever get over it, feeling like it's her fault he's dead. Maybe he thought that if he was out of the way, it would be easier for her. That maybe she would be cured.  
  
That's preposterous.  
  
There are a lot of layers to the government, Bill. Anything is possible. With that, Maggie patted her son's knee and returned to the kitchen. Life certainly held its fair share of mysteries, but though she secretly hoped for a miracle and prayed for one daily, her mind was prepared to accept her last daughter's fate. It would have been too hard not to, were God to take her soon after all.  
  
***  
  
Will the arms of hope surround me?  
Will time be a fairweather friend?  
Should I call out to angels?  
Or just drink myself sober again?  
Can't hide what's true  
Still good for you  
Your memory just won't let me go...  
  
Damn song, Dana thought moodily. Go away. But its rhythm repeated itself inside her mind until she was forced to find a new preoccupation.  
  
She stared out across the choppy pond, geese skimming the water as it rippled in the breeze. Children laughed in the distance, throwing pieces of old bread in the pond as the birds dove for the welcomed crumbs. One awkward little duckling kept missing out on his share, and in his frustration, he waddled right up to the children and allowed them to feed him, remembering his fear only when the bread disappeared in his beak. He then skittered back to the water, near the safety of his mother.  
  
Dana smiled as she watched the little creature and its drama unfold before her. His determination reminded her of Mulder. She began to make a mental note to tell him that she thought he was like a hungry duckling, imagining the chuckle that would ensue, before it registered: She could not tell him. He was dead. And she had forgotten, though temporarily. How could she forget him so soon?  
  
I did not forget him, she insisted sharply to herself. I simply didn't think about him for a moment. This rationalization barely comforted her as she contemplated her comparison. Yes, the young creature and Mulder both had determination in common. But there was more. Bravery. Yes, that's what it was. They were both brave.  
  
The hell with Bill, she told herself as the subdued anger began to flare up again. How dare he call Mulder a coward! He's the strongest, bravest, kindest, funniest, and smartest man I know.   
  
Knew, she corrected herself. Knew.  
  
An inner battled waged on in her mind as a seagull dove to battle with the ducks over the stray bread crumbs. Mulder was no coward. But he'd killed himself. Hadn't he? She'd seen the body herself. But then, she'd seen what she'd thought was him twice before, and both times had been hoaxes, impostors who'd managed to take on his form. One glance at a bloody body in his apartment, and she had told them it was Mulder. But was she sure? Was it him beyond a doubt?  
  
A small stirring of hope began to rise within her. Don't do this to yourself, Dana. Don't set yourself up for a fall. And though the logical side of her was arguing for her to accept his death and somehow move on, the emotional side of her was yelling to find out for sure, to take another look. The scientist in her took over as she stood with resolve, a familiar destination in mind. There was one way to know for sure, one that she would have trouble being granted, but one she would get, one way or another.  
  
***  
  
When you hurt, when you suffer  
I'm your angel under cover...  
  
Some angel, Dana thought grimly, killing her engine, along with the fading voice of Meredith Brooks that had filled the speakers. She clenched her fists tightly, kneading the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. I failed.   
  
It was hard to admit; Dana Scully just didn't fail. When she had her mind set on something, she could usually manage to finagle it. But she had caused such a commotion at the morgue, that they had been forced to escort her out the door, along with firm instructions to stay away for at least a week--after Mulder's body was cremated. After any hope she had was incinerated with him.  
  
She was too close to the case, they had told her. Tell me something I don't know, she had muttered quietly, aloud trying her best at professionalism. But her patience had worn out, and her voice had risen, a couple of veiled threats packed in for power. But it hadn't worked. They had told her she wasn't thinking strait, wouldn't be able to properly do an autopsy on her partner. They reminded her of the rules, the necessity of scientific detachment in their line of work. She had let them have it then, angry that they would doubt her abilities, accusing them not only of being male chauvinists, but of being one of THEM, a part of the shadow government.  
  
Security had arrived then to show her the door, being oh-so-sincere in telling their colleague that they would not put this little display on her record. She had shoved them off of her arms, marching defiantly to her car and speeding away. It wasn't until she had cooled off some, at the fifth or so stop light, that she noticed the slip of paper on her passenger seat. It was an address. That was all.  
  
She now sat outside a very dilapidated apartment building, contemplating the wisdom of entering a likely setup. Stupid she was not, but like her partner, she was also far from a coward. Checking the clip on her weapon, she took a deep breath and exited the car.  
  
She carefully maneuvered her way around some undesirable-looking men who hung around the main entrance. Confidently climbing the stairway, she was aware of her surroundings at all times, and once she reached the top, her keen eyes immediately picked out the proper apartment number.   
  
She flattened her back against the wall, right hand holding the Sig, left slowly turning the door knob. Crashing through into the main room, she aimed at her semi-hidden target, her foot kicking the door shut behind her. A sickeningly familiar odor irritated her nostrils as she slowly came face to face with the one of the last people she'd expected to see.  
  
Ah, so it's your turn now, the old man said calmly, having recovered from his initial shock and taking a puff on his ever present Morley. How nice of you to visit.  
  
He's not dead, is he? Scully asked in a cold, determined voice, wondering who the hell had led her to him.  
  
Who? Mulder? Of course he's dead. You saw that for yourself.  
  
No, I didn't. I saw, for a moment, a body that bore a great resemblance to my partner. But I have seen no concrete evidence.  
  
No? Didn't the boys at the morgue show you their autopsy reports?  
  
She shook her head, annoyed with the bastard's condescending tone. Those could easily have been fakes.  
  
Smart AND sexy, he commented, taking another drag. He abruptly stopped at the sound of the cock of her gun. No offense, he continued, his voice slightly altered.  
  
Where is he?  
  
Mulder is dead.  
  
God, she hoped he wasn't! Aside for the obvious reasons, the Smoking Man would certainly be enjoying this demonstration if her partner really was dead. You're going to tell me the truth, she insisted, approaching further. And I want it now. She moved the gun slightly for emphasis.  
  
As I've told your partner, I'm not afraid to die. Yes, that's right; don't look so surprised. He was here, when you were... missing. He didn't believe you were dead, either. But we returned you, in time.  
  
So, he's not dead.  
  
I didn't say that, Agent Scully.  
  
She moved on him so fast he had no time to react. The cold steel pressed into his temple, and he did not bother to relight his cigarette. You WILL tell me, she said in a menacing whisper. I have nothing to lose.  
  
And neither do I, he said, his voice now a bit shaky. If you pull that trigger, not only do I die, but you do as well, and so does your partner's life's work. I didn't believe for a second that you would betray him. He felt the pressure loosen from his temple as the reality sunk in. If I live, one of you may live. Agent Mulder made that choice for you.  
  
She backed slightly away, and he resumed his smoking. He wouldn't have killed himself.  
  
But he did. It's in the records. If that is all, Agent Scully, I have some work to attend to.  
  
  
  
I've been called worse, I assure you.  
  
You lying, black-lunged, son-of-a-bitch! How dare you play with our lives? This is not a game.  
  
Yes, in fact, it is. And I, for one, am interested to see who will win.  
  
Her voice finally betraying her emotions, Dana re-aimed her gun. Not you. She pulled the trigger.  
  
***  
  
There's a road, long and winding  
The lights are blinding, but it gets there  
Don't give up; don't look back  
There's a silver lining, it's out there somewhere  
Everybody wants an answer, everybody needs a friend  
We all need a shining star on which we can depend...  
  
Dana felt an odd sense of peace as Bryan Adams sung low on the car radio, smiling rather grimly to herself at her small victory. It had been an expert job, really. She knew where to shoot, what would be the most painful, though not so vital that a person would bleed to death before help arrived. The look on the old man's face had been worth it, and Dana's only regret was that her partner was not there to have seen it.  
  
She didn't know if the Smoking Man knew anything for certain about Mulder, but it seemed likely considering the lead she had received. Unless, of course, someone was trying to throw her off course, away from the real culprit. She had found nothing concrete to suggest Mulder had not killed himself, but in her heart, she was hoping more than ever that this had all been a setup.   
  
Her speech at that nightmarish board meeting had been contradicted with her arrival at Cancer Man's door. He wouldn't be talking again any time soon, however, so Dana had some time to be invisible. A trip to the Lone Gunmen's had proved uneventful, the men as close to drunk as she'd ever seen them. She'd felt so sorry for Frohike, she'd even allowed him a hug, as she wondered vaguely how she had the energy to give out comfort when it was her best friend who seemed to be dead.  
  
Seemed to be. Her thoughts had gradually shifted throughout the day from Why did he do it? to Did he really do it? and If not, where is he? Denial. She was in denial, no doubt about that. But nothing seemed to matter now as she sat outside Mulder's apartment building, willing the courage to go inside.  
  
Finally, she made herself leave the comfort of her car and head up the familiar corridor to stand in front of number forty-two. Her hand was shaky as it pulled out her key, unlocking the door. Taking a deep breath, she entered.  
  
Nothing had changed. The fish tank rested in a corner, some clothes strewn here and there, and all traces of what had apparently gone on there were wiped away, the FBI wishing its involvement to be tidy and brief.   
  
Dana sat down on the edge of the couch, taking out her gun. She experimentally held it to her head, safety firmly in place, unable to imagine her partner pulling the trigger on himself. She reholstered the gun and leaned back against the cushions, twilight seeping in through the open blinds. She noted the masking tape on his desk, as if ready to signal a new informant of a need for answers. As far as she knew, he had not found a replacement for Mr. X. But, she reflected thoughtfully, perhaps a replacement has found us.  
  
Closing her eyes, she noticed how distinctly his apartment was. She felt him here, his aura perhaps Missy would have told her. She was briefly tempted to try and reach out to him again, to try and see his spirit, but the motivation wasn't there. To attempt to find his ghost would be accepting his death. And she no longer believed her own eyes; there was too much secrecy, too many lies. She knew the truth was out there; discerning it among the intricate web of lies had always been the problem.  
  
Her eyes grew heavy, and in the comfort of her partner's apartment, she drifted off to sleep. It wasn't until two hours later that she jumped suddenly awake, remembering the nightmarish seen in the hospital when Bob Modell had forced Mulder to play Russian roulette, Mulder pulling the trigger against his own temple and then turning the gun on her. But he had fought, hard and long, and they had made it. Again.  
  
Rubbing her eyes, she reached over and turned on a nearby lamp. The folded slip of paper caught her attention. It most definitely had not been there when she'd arrived. She scanned the apartment briefly, getting up and checking every corner, a firm hand on her weapon, but it was clear. Someone had come and gone during her slumber.  
  
Dana decided not to dwell on that fact as she unfolded the note. Another address. Hesitating only slightly, she switched off the light and locked the door behind her.  
  
***  
  
I'd hold you tighter,   
Closer than ever before  
No flame would burn brighter  
If I could touch you once more  
Hold you once more...  
  
Dana's mind drifted back to the Richard Marx song, realizing the truth held in those words as she glanced nervously into the shadows. A pipe was broken somewhere in the rundown old warehouse, its steady drip filling her intent ears. Her heartbeat seemed unusually loud as she waited, waited for a mysterious stranger who would either carve out a roundabout path to the truth or shoot her now, ending what was left of her life.  
  
Sighing, Dana relaxed for only a moment; a barely noticeable creak causing her to tense. She aimed expertly towards the sound, body rigid, head high. Her voice held authority as she spoke, Show yourself.  
  
It was an agonizing few seconds, one that seemed to stretch into the long night as an accordion in play. Knowing how important a link this could be to the Truth, every nerve in Dana's body was ready for whatever might happen next. At least, she thought she was ready.  
  
A tall form stepped from the shadows. Proceed slowly, Dana instructed in her clear, firm voice. The man did as told, and as his body fell under the dim light, her own froze.  
  
The voice was wonderfully familiar, the face literally a sight for sore eyes.  
  
Slowly, she lowered her gun, her mouth open in shock. Their eyes locked for a moment frozen in time, thoughts and emotions too strong for words. It wasn't until the sound of her gun clattering to the warehouse floor had snapped her from her reverie, that she was able to speak. Oh my God. It was barely a whisper.  
  
I'm sorry, Scully. His voice was strained, and a hint of tears glistened in his sad eyes. I didn't want to hurt you.  
  
Leaving her weapon where it had fallen, she walked slowly to him, barely daring to breathe. He stood still as she reached him, an uncertain hand gently touching his face. Oh my God, she repeated, her chin beginning to tremble. It is you.  
  
Instantly her arms were around him, squeezing him to her shaking body as the tears fell. Mulder's strong arms encircled her as well, not knowing a greater comfort than being able to hold his partner warmly against his lonely body.  
  
The day had been hell for him. Waking up with a lump the size of small egg on the back of his head, he'd felt as though he was severely hungover--as he had been. But the cold, unlit basement in which he had awoken had provided him with no further answers. The last thing he'd remembered was Carl Sagan's voice on the television, a morbidly comfortable feeling of steel pressed to his skull, and an impossibly tight feeling around his heart. The tears had been fast and the alcohol potent. He had been convinced that his life was not worth living. But as the circle of steel had been pressed to his forehead, he had pictured Scully, finding his body, and he'd known he couldn't do it. Though his life seemed worthless to him, and no matter what Scully believed about the truth and the lies, he knew she valued his life tremendously.  
  
This thought made his fresh tears flow faster, wondering how he deserved to have such a friend, and he kissed the top of her auburn head. He had hurt her so much, especially upon his supposed death... The Kurt Crawfords had taken him, insisting it was the only way. They wanted him to stay with them, to run their underground errands, to help them find a way to save his partner. He had escaped, however, to explain to Scully that he was okay, that he would not leave her that way, though he planned to return to the Kurt Crawfords and help them, remain dead,' no matter the risks.  
  
She pulled slightly away to look at him, her touch never leaving his as her emotions were displayed openly on her face. How could you do this to me? she asked, her voice sounding like that of a lost child.  
  
I didn't; I wouldn't do that to you, Scully. Someone took me, wanting to help. But I told them I wouldn't, not unless you knew the truth.  
  
  
  
Mulder shook his head. It's not important. As long as you know.  
  
I already did, Mulder. I knew you weren't dead. After I'd thought about it, anyway. I knew you couldn't do that to me.  
  
Never. I wouldn't.  
  
So, what now?  
  
He paused slightly, his thumb briefly fluttering across her cheek. I go back. He hated to say it.  
  
she answered, refusing to believe. I need you here. Hard to admit, but the truth.  
  
Mulder was touched at the admission, wanting to hold her closer, but needing to make her understand. Scully... Dana... if I were the one dying, would you be able to stand by and do nothing?  
  
She shook her head, her lip trying its best not to tremble. I would do anything, she admitted.  
  
And I am, he said eagerly. I think we have a chance, Scully, if only you can trust me.  
  
I trust you with everything, Mulder. You know that.  
  
Then you have to stop looking for answers. You need to make them think you've accepted my death.' Only then can I be free to find the truth.  
  
She couldn't look at him as she began to explain, There was a meeting today...  
  
I know, he silenced her, a hand brushing back a loose strand of her hair. Skinner told me. You did the right thing. It will help me. Hey, even when we're apart, we're still thinking the same thing. He smiled slightly.  
  
Skinner? No wonder he wasn't at the board meeting. It was all beginning to make sense. Skinner had been the one to block her permission to the morgue. Then Mulder's last words registered, and she couldn't help but grin. Mulder, when were we ever thinking the same thing?  
  
He laughed softly, wishing he didn't have to leave her, not now. His expression turned serious. How are you? Really, I mean.  
  
She paused only slightly. I'm okay. I'm getting along.  
  
He accepted the answer, knowing she was trying to spare him of the details. But he'd heard that her cancer was metastasizing; it was only a matter of time. And the sooner he got back to the Kurt Crawfords, the better.  
  
Regretfully, he let go of his partner. I need to go.  
  
  
  
  
  
Why didn't you just have Skinner tell me?  
  
He shook his head. I couldn't do that to you; it wouldn't have been fair. I don't even know if he would have agreed.  
  
She took a reflective breath. You know, I always pictured myself, if not dying from old age, then dying in saving your life--and never regretting it. But not this. Not this degrading, unforgiving disease.  
  
If I have anything to say about it, he replied around the lump in his throat, you're gonna be a little old granny once we get to Reticula.  
  
Her answering smile was bittersweet. Promise you'll be careful.  
  
I'll try, he answered honestly.  
  
They stood as long-lost relatives at an airport, unwilling to say goodbye but knowing they had to depart. Finally, Mulder broke their stare, looking uncomfortably towards the door. I have to get out of here before someone finds out I'm not dead.  
  
She nodded, successful at holding back her tears. I'll see you later, then.  
  
He paused briefly, then finally turned to walk away.  
  
When he was almost at the door, she stopped him.   
  
He froze, quickly turning around.  
  
She paused, uncertain how best to express what she found impossible to say with words. Then she knew, and unfastening her cherished cross from around her neck, she went to her partner.  
  
Speechless, he bent down slightly so that she could fasten the chain around his neck. She didn't withdraw her arms, instead wrapping them tightly around him once more, hating to say goodbye.  
  
I can't do this, she said softly against his chest. It's too hard.  
  
He pulled back only slightly, his breath warm against her cheek. Searching her eyes, he lowered his lips lightly to hers, then rested his forehead on her soft hair.  
  
Her voice was broken, but her eyes held bittersweet happiness as she attempted to smile. You trying to make me cry again, Mulder?  
  
He grinned. My kiss was that bad?  
  
She laughed then, pulling his collar towards her, so his lips were on hers once again. Shut up, Mulder. Just shut up.  
  
Their kiss was intense yet brief, a promise of things to come in a future neither of them knew for certain would exist. As Dana pulled away, Mulder leaned in for another, but she stopped him, her voice once again in control.  
  
she said with a shake of her head, tenderly patting his chest. Go before I can't let you.  
  
He brushed his lips against her forehead before letting go. One last, meaningful glance, and he was gone, one with the shadows, dead for all intensive purposes.  
  
Dana stood for several minutes after he had gone, watching the moonlight play tricks on her eyes, once again able to hear the steady dripping of the broken water pipe. With a resolute sigh, she turned around to pick up her gun, prepared to do the hardest job of all--wait.  
  
***  
  
The love you hold back is the only pain that follows you.  
  
Maggie Scully said the fondly remembered quote quietly, looking into her daughter's pale eyes. I was afraid, Dana, that you would leave this world feeling only pain. There are so many things we always think we have time to say but never do.  
  
Dana nodded with a slight smile, listening to the ducks and children once again. You're not just talking about Mulder, are you? she observed.  
  
You're a smart girl, sweetie.  
  
What Bill said, Mom, was uncalled for.  
  
I know that, and he's sorry. He just wants to protect you, and he gets a bit overdone with it.  
  
That was protection? Mom, that was slander.  
  
You can explain to him about the plan.  
  
She was adamant. No one is to know, Mom. It's too risky as it is.  
  
She nodded her acceptance, and Dana relaxed. A few comfortable moments shared in silence, and Dana spoke, almost shyly, eager to share with someone.  
  
He kissed me.  
  
Maggie turned her gaze from the pond to her daughter. Did he?  
  
Dana smiled. I liked it.  
  
Maggie laughed and put an arm around her. I'm not surprised.  
  
She relaxed against her mother as she continued. I want so much to have a normal life, sometimes, Mom. But then I think I'd get bored awfully quick. But it would be so nice without complications.  
  
Everyone has complications.  
  
Not like ours.  
  
No, that's true. You and Fox are far from run-of-the-mill. Her smile turned serious. Does he know when he'll return?  
  
she sat back up with a sigh. I hope he's back here before... She let her words trail off, knowing it was unnecessary to continue her morbid train of thoughts.  
  
He'll do his best, I'm sure. You have to have faith, Maggie insisted as she tried to keep her voice unbroken, looking to her daughter's neck for the familiar reminder that she still believed.  
  
Dana guiltily noticed her mother's gaze and said quickly, I gave it to him.  
  
Maggie only nodded, the glint of a before unseen silver bracelet whose clasp was in the form of two hands, only now catching her eye, followed by the realization of where it had come from. She smiled then and observed, That's a beautiful bracelet, Dana.  
  
Dana couldn't help blushing slightly, a smile creeping its way onto her face, still unsure of how he'd managed to slip it into her pocket the night before, a symbol of their perennial friendship. Yes, it is, Mom. It's the most beautiful bracelet I've ever seen.  
  
***  
  
When you're born, you cry and the world is joyful; when you die, the world cries, yet you may find your greatest joy.  
  
As Dana drove through downtown Baltimore, she wondered why this half-forgotten quote came to mind. Yes, her religion, or lack thereof, had been weighing heavily on her mind in recent weeks. Fifteen days since Mulder had met her in the abandoned warehouse, fifteen days for her to wait, and fifteen days more of her life lived with cancer. She was feeling weak, and she needed answers. She needed Mulder.  
  
Skinner had refused to discuss the matter with her, playing along that her partner was dead, ordering her to clean out the little basement office. That's when she had found yet another address. She knew then her A.D. had been behind the clues all the time, though Mulder had said he'd seemed reluctant to help. But what could this mean? Had Mulder returned?  
  
Pulling into a crowded parking lot, Dana pondered her impending death. She believed with all that she was, that there was a God. Why he let some of the terrible things happen that she had witnessed, she didn't know. And even in believing thoroughly in science and its logical theories, she somehow did not allow these rules to interfere with her belief. I guess that's what faith is, she reflected, heading towards the correct office building.  
  
She felt for her bracelet as she ascended in the elevator. It was an extreme source of comfort for her now, as was the thought of Mulder with her cross, protecting him in his impossible quest. Near impossible quest, she silently corrected herself. In spite of all I've seen, or maybe even because of some of the things, I do believe in miracles.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax. Just the walk from car to elevator had been tiring. As indignant as she had been at Skinner for assigning her desk work and stupid little assignments, she hadn't objected, not minding time for the much-needed rest. The only trouble was that with rest came time for thought. And her mind was filled with worry and anticipation these days. Especially now with the note. Had something gone wrong?  
  
The elevator came to stop on the way to her destination, and a pretty, blond woman entered. Dana nodded politely, nervously tapping her fingers against her skirt. Then the woman reached over and pushed the emergency stop button, and Dana moved her hand to her holster, prepared for the worst.   
  
What are you doing? she asked in a clear, calm voice.  
  
Agent Scully, the woman acknowledged. You don't know me.  
  
No, I don't.  
  
I know your partner.  
  
Dana let her hand leave her holster. she asked suspiciously.  
  
I've helped him out a bit in the past. I want to help him now.  
  
Dana followed her partner's adage of trust no one.' Mulder is dead.  
  
Marita noticed with approval that Scully was very convincing in her assertion. Fine. But things still need to be done. Truths are still out there to be found.  
  
I don't have time to search for impossible truths. I'm dying. That's the only truth I need to know.  
  
Your partner doesn't believe that, does he? He came to me when he'd heard of that body in the Yukon. He wanted to know of its authenticity.  
  
And what did you tell him?  
  
The truth, same as you. That it was a fake to make him believe. But he wouldn't listen. Not until you told him.  
  
she shook her head. He wouldn't even listen to me. I had to force him to, and that led to his death. Now, if you don't have any information for me, I need to be going.  
  
Marita was amazed that Scully's voice and eyes reflected a real loss. She began to doubt her own convictions that Mulder was still alive. Her report to her boss would not make him happy.  
  
You remind me a lot of Agent Mulder, Marita remarked.  
  
Do I? Dana raised her eyebrows at the stranger.  
  
Yes. Both so unwilling to trust, so ready to believe in the impossible. You don't believe he's dead, do you?  
  
I saw for myself, she insisted. I identified his body. If you don't mind, I would rather not discuss it.  
  
You were close, Marita observed.  
  
Scully understood the insinuation. Are you asking if I was sleeping with my partner?  
  
The blond was a bit taken aback, realizing how sharp this woman was, knowing the impossibility of pulling anything over on her. She made a mental note.  
  
Dana took advantage of her silence and continued her train of thought, restarting the elevator. Because if you are, the answer is no. However, if you're asking if we were intimate, the answer is yes. She smiled sweetly, her expression unreadable.  
  
Marita wasn't sure what to make of that comment as the elevator came to a stop. Dana exited and didn't turn back. Whether the woman had worked with Mulder before or not, it was obvious whom she was working for now. And Dana was determined to follow the plan, feigning ignorance that he was alive, not believing there were any truths left to be found.  
  
Back in her car, she leaned back in her seat tiredly. The encounter had drained her energy, and she considered her last comment. Smiling, she knew just how true it was. Mulder knew her inside-out, as she did him. She doubted two people could be more closely connected emotionally than they. She only wished he could be there now, so she wouldn't have to worry. She wasn't sure she believed a cure was out there, but she knew the risks he would undertake to find hope, and the inevitable fear and guilt that would accompany failure.   
  
More than anything, she did not want to die alone. She had no doubt that she would find a great joy in Heaven, but Mulder's life would become his own personal hell. Especially if he did return before her death, empty-handed. Perhaps it would be better for me to pass on before he can come back and see my diseased body, she reflected sadly. Perhaps it would be best if the last thing he remembered was me appearing healthy, in that warehouse, holding me, feeling that kiss...  
  
Sighing, Dana fastened her seat belt, determined not to spend the rest of the day sulking. Maybe a movie and take-out... But even that reminded her of her partner. All she could do was continue to wait. And pray.  
  
***  
  
If you love, love without hesitation or restraint. If you fight, fight without fear.  
  
The words were clear and precise, spoken by a leader. Walter Skinner cleared his throat and paced his office, watching his resurrected X-File agent.  
  
Mulder sat, mulling those words over, wondering if he hadn't already fulfilled that criteria. Well, in Scully's case, better late than never. If only this works! It has to.  
  
Agent Mulder, the A.D. began his expected lecture. You have indeed fought without fear. But also without thought, without judgment, and without consideration.  
  
I did it for Scully.  
  
Skinner sighed in frustration. How could he punish the man for something he would have done himself had his position not been so precarious? Of course, Skinner had known the plan all along, had even helped Scully learn of it exactly one month before, though the latest note given her was not his idea, but that of the Cancer Man, ordering his troops around even from his sickbed. Even so, Skinner had to make this look good, now that Mulder's resurrection would soon be official. He hadn't seen Scully in a week, as she had been calling in sick every morning. He hated to think what that meant. Giving up his professor mode and reseating himself at his desk, he asked, Do you really think this will work, Fox?  
  
I want to believe it will, sir. But we won't know until we get the preliminaries tested in the lab. I'm not taking chances that this is a setup. The Kurt Crawfords had worked tirelessly, and strangely enough, the answer seemed to come from the small-pox infested bees. A component of their chemical make-up indicated it could possibly reduce a tumor such as Scully's. But Mulder wanted to take every precaution, in spite of the risk he had incurred by appearing at headquarters.  
  
Skinner nodded. Whatever you need, you've got it.  
  
Thank you, sir. Mulder rose to leave but was interrupted by his superior's next statement.  
  
Your partner's a damn good shot.  
  
  
  
Skinner grinned in spite of himself. Off the record of course.  
  
What are you talking about?  
  
Skinner nodded towards an empty ashtray. He's been in the hospital a few weeks, recovering.  
  
His eyebrows and voice both raised in surprise, understanding now why the usual stale odor had not met his arrival this time.  
  
His nod was barely perceptible. She's got more guts than you and I put together.  
  
I never doubted that, sir. His smile was proud as turned to make his way to the labs.  
  
***  
  
Only the unwise think that what has changed is dead: If a flower blooms once, it goes on blooming somewhere forever; it blooms on for whoever has seen it blooming.  
  
Dana paused at that line in _Sounder_, wondering how far through her childhood book collection she would get before her eyes grew too tired to read the cherished words. She vaguely wondered why it was she felt a need to go back to her childhood... Well, she reasoned, they were happy days. Carefree and fun. Not malicious and morbid.  
  
She closed her eyes with a deep breath and fought the urge to cry. She had gotten through the past few weeks since she'd last seen Mulder without one tear, and she wasn't about to indulge in self-pity now. She could feel her strength drain daily, and a day without a nosebleed was true cause for celebration. She felt that death was inching its way closer, and though she was not afraid of death itself, she certainly was far from ready to leave this world, morbidity and all.  
  
To know that Mulder was out there still, gave her strength, hope. She wanted so much for him to succeed, for him to be happy. If she didn't make it, she knew that as the book's lines stated, she would indeed live on in his heart; he would forever remember her, there was no doubt. That thought was a tremendous comfort to Dana, but it was also her biggest fear, that he would let his ever present guilt consume him, causing him to fade as an autumn flower, just as she was doing now.  
  
She wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping, but the knock sounded distant and far away. It took several seconds after she had awaken for it to register that she had a visitor. Trying to clear her head, Dana slowly got up from her comfortable couch corner and went to see who was at the door.  
  
Oh, no, not a Jehovah's Witness, she groaned as she saw the thick beard through her peephole. But she realized they rarely solicited alone and were usually clean-cut. About to take hold of her gun as a precaution, something registered in the man's eyes. Oh my God. Mulder.  
  
She flung the door open, after clumsily undoing the locks. But once it was open, all she could manage was to stare--as could he. She detected the sadness in his eyes at her diminished appearance, and feeling self-conscious, she moved out of the way, shutting the door behind him. He slowly peeled off the beard, rubbing his cheeks.  
  
You think it's me? he asked with a forced grin, referring to his bearded look.  
  
She tried to return his smile. Stick with clean-cut and an occasional five o'clock shadow. Definitely no beard.  
  
It felt awkward for a moment until he finally asked the question at the forefront of his mind. How are you, Dana?  
  
She wanted to lie, but instead she answered, I'm getting along okay. I have my bad days.  
  
He nodded, removing his coat and reaching for the syringe in his pocket. This is our miracle drug. His voice tried to be hopeful, but his eyes gave way his doubt.  
  
They don't think it will work. It wasn't a question.  
  
They don't really know. All they can say is that its side effects will likely not cause any permanent damage.  
  
Likely? What are the ingredients?  
  
He handed her a sheet of paper. Having anticipated this question, he'd insisted the guys at the lab print it up for her.  
  
My God, she said, her head now free of fog as she concentrated on the ingredients. This is mighty potent stuff.  
  
He merely nodded.  
  
No time like the present, I guess.  
  
You don't have to do it, Scully.  
  
She put a reassuring hand on his arm. I have faith in you, Mulder. But you keep this in mind; if this doesn't work, if something goes wrong, it is NOT your fault. I am a doctor, remember; I read the ingredients. I know the risks.  
  
He nodded, a lump in his throat.  
  
I'd better be lying down, she said matter-of-factly, leading the way to her bedroom. There will be seizures. I'm not sure how bad. It just depends.  
  
He followed her like a loyal hound at his master's heel, knowing he'd have to see her suffer before it would get better--if it would get better at all.  
  
She sat down with a sigh on her bed, after having retrieved the rubbing alcohol and a cotton swab from her medicine cabinet. She handed these to Mulder. In the back of my arm. Sterilize for thirty seconds.  
  
He nodded, gently rolling up her sleeve and doing as told. He dipped the syringe in the alcohol as well, pausing as he looked at her. I'm not a doctor, Scully. I can't do this.  
  
She returned his intense stare. I have faith in you, Mulder. You can do it.  
  
He held her gaze a moment longer, wanting to say so much, but unable to say anything. His eyes wandered to her hand, and his heart tightened to see the silver bracelet around her wrist. He touched it lightly, his hand clasping hers as in the jewelry.  
  
You found it. His voice was choked up.  
  
She reached under his shirt collar and pulled out her cross, holding it for a moment before letting go. Let's get this show on the road, she instructed, afraid what might happen, equally afraid of any last, soul-bearing words between the dying and the mourning. It was too late to admit defeat. This was their hope, and she would believe.  
  
Mulder took a deep breath and bit his lip in concentration. Very tenderly he held her arm with one hand, his other trying to steady the needle. It pricked her skin, and she flinched as the liquid eased into her compromised system. He knew it was hurting and was more than glad when the last of the brown stuff had entered, and he could withdraw his syringe. Using a cotton ball and bandage, he taped the mark up, and Scully leaned back slowly on her bed, waiting.  
  
Setting the medical supplies aside, he edged his way closer to her body, his hand firmly clasping hers. She squeezed back her response, even in her groggy state trying to comfort him. Impulsively, he leaned down to kiss her forehead, noticing how sunken and thin her cheeks had become just in the month since he'd last seen her. Her breathing was even and steady, and sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her, he waited.  
  
Time like a heartbeat, he thought suddenly, remembering her touching words to him in her journal. A reckoning. Knowing my heart, feeling you close. Trusting you as I have come to trust no other.  
  
Not for the first time, Mulder wondered at the unfairness of life. Someone as good and kind and wonderful as Dana Scully to have to suffer such a fate. He tried his best not to blame himself, but even her encouragement could not deter what he felt in his heart. Releasing her hand, he stretched his long body out beside her and closed his eyes.  
  
Violent jerking beside him caused his eyes to fly open half an hour later, his partner's body shaking strongly. he said, helpless as the seizure passed. He could not relax again after that, instead pacing the room, running a worried hand through his hair until the next seizure hit. Her face seemed dangerously pale, and several times Mulder considered calling an ambulance. But he knew they would be unable to help. Dana had to do the work now, and it was his turn to wait.  
  
***  
  
Our system should be engaged in a search for the truth... For without truth, how can our society maintain the ideals, values, and principles upon which it was founded? --Judge Harold J. Rothwax.   
  
With disdain, the man read this quote aloud from the copy of _Reader's Digest_ his nurse had brought that morning. he muttered, throwing the magazine on the floor and reaching for an imaginary cigarette in a pocket that was not there. Damn. When the hell are you going to get me out of here? he demanded to the blond who had entered the spacious hospital room.  
  
He's got the best room, and he's still a son-of-a-bitch, the woman reflected as she stood before him. Sir, Mulder is alive.  
  
His face turned a shade whiter before he settled back against his cushions. As I suspected. But I thought you said the woman believed.  
  
Perhaps she did. All I know is that he was seen at the Hoover building yesterday, was there all night, and then headed directly to Agent Scully.  
  
Her condition is grave. He made it just in time.  
  
So it will work?  
  
Of course it will. We never meant to kill her.  
  
Or him.  
  
No, no. Certainly we wanted no martyr on our hands. But with his partner's testimony at that board meeting, there was hardly a chance of that. It would not have altered our plans dramatically to have them both out of the way. But things will go on as usual now.  
  
You have no regrets?  
  
Why should I?  
  
I would think that after what she did to you, you would not want her to live.  
  
Dying, Ms. Covvaruvious, is not nearly as difficult as living, don't you agree?  
  
I suppose.  
  
Now the game must continue.  
  
Will it?  
  
Indeed. They have not won. They can't. He again followed habit, reaching for a smoke. he cursed himself. The games will continue when I am out of this prison. Now go see what you can do about it.  
  
Yes, sir, Marita answered, glad to escape his presence. She knew this man had no morals, no loyalties. He could turn on her without notice; she had to be careful.  
  
***  
  
Won't you let me catch you fall?  
Won't you let me lend a hand?  
Those lonely eyes have seen it all  
But love's too blind to understand  
Cause you don't know what you have  
Till your everything is gone  
You need someone to show you how to love again...  
  
Exhausted, Mulder listened to the sound of Blessed Union of Soul break the eerie morning silence, echoing from Dana's clock radio, apparently programmed to go off as an alarm. Glancing at the clock, he realized this was the time she'd awaken for work. Though according to Skinner, she had not gone lately, too weak to manage, most likely, though she certainly would never have admitted it.  
  
Mulder sighed and rolled over to peer at his partner's seemingly peaceful face. Two whole hours had gone by without a seizure, and her breathing had lost the ragged quality that had plagued her all night. She had made it through the worst, but that was no guarantee that the solution had worked.  
  
She began to stir a bit, and Mulder sat up instantly, his hand to her face.   
  
She blinked sleepily. she answered through her fog, wondering why her head felt like it had been split in two. Absently, she reached for a Kleenex on her nightstand, out of habit holding it to her nose.  
  
No, Scully, it's okay.   
  
Her eyes opened then, and she tentatively pulled the tissue away. It was clean. She looked at him, confused. I can't remember the last time I woke up without a bloody nose, she said, struggling to sit up.  
  
He helped her back reach the headboard, cushioned by her pillow. You had a couple last night. Several seizures. How do you feel?  
  
Like someone stuck me under a steamroller, she commented, trying to smile. I wonder if that's good or bad?  
  
You're awake and all right. That's good.  
  
All right? We don't know anything, Mulder. I could be just as sick as before, you know. We have to be realistic.  
  
He nodded, his enthusiasm not deterred. Are you hungry?  
  
Prepared to say no, again out of habit of an uneasy stomach, she surprised herself. I'm starved. What's on the menu?  
  
He grinned in response as he suggested,   
  
For breakfast? She raised her eyebrows.  
  
Well, I could get Chinese instead, he offered, still smiling, allowing himself to temporarily believe that things were back to normal.  
  
Why don't we start with coffee.  
  
I think I can handle that.  
  
  
  
He squeezed her hand slightly before leaving the bed, hunting for what he needed in the kitchen. She watched him fondly, knowing that in spite of her killer headache and rather sore muscles, her body somehow felt revived, hopeful maybe. Was it just her expectation that she might be better, or was it a true sign of recovery? She didn't care at that point as she carefully slid out of bed and joined Mulder in the kitchen.  
  
***  
  
You wouldn't know that I was there  
Cause I have been there all the time  
And if I had my way I'd hold you in my arms  
And leave this madness all behind  
Cause you got so much to give  
But you throw it all away  
And all you got to show for who you are is pain  
And I got so much to give  
If you'd only let me in  
I'm gonna take the time to show you I'm a friend  
You'll believe in love again....  
  
That song again, Mulder thought as he straightened the sheets on Scully's bed, realizing they had not bothered to turn off the radio. They had spent the day at her apartment, playing cards, watching TV, joking around--almost like nothing was wrong. But it had seemed an eternity until three o'clock, the time for which Scully had made her appointment at the hospital.  
  
I'm ready, Mulder, she said as she stepped from the bathroom, dressed in a casual pant suit, her hair slightly damp from the shower. Her cheeks almost glowed, and Mulder grinned.  
  
You look great, Scully.  
  
She raised her eyebrows at him, glancing at herself in the mirror. A familiar face peered back at her, one that was certainly slimmer than it had been several months earlier, but one which radiated something she had not noticed in quite awhile. She smiled. Thank you, Mulder, she replied, slipping her shoes on. A flicker of nervousness lighted her features as she said, We'd better be going.  
  
He nodded, flicking off the radio and joining her in the living room.   
  
  
  
If it doesn't work...  
  
It will, she said confidently. I can feel it, Mulder. She had broken her steadfast rule of putting her heart into something without fear of loss, though she knew that if this had not actually cured her, her disappointment would be immense. That was one reason she had not told her mother that Mulder had returned, though she wondered if the buzz had not somehow gotten out. He'd explained his encounter with Skinner and had hinted for further details of Cancer Man's fate, but she did not actually know what had become of him, and that's all she would say. He was equally vague about his blond informant, though Scully warned him not to trust her.  
  
You're the only one I trust, he had reminded her.   
  
She smiled now, remembering. She reached for his hand. Come on, partner.  
  
He went to her, ignoring the hand and wrapping his arms tightly around her. She returned the gesture, and they stood in the embrace for several minutes, exchanging comfort and hope, each remembering their warehouse kiss. Finally, they pulled away, silently agreeing it was time to leave.  
  
***  
  
'Cause you don't know what you have  
Till your everything is gone  
You need someone to show you how to love again  
And I got so much to give  
If you'd only let me in  
I'm gonna take the time to show you I'm a friend  
You'll believe again....  
  
Does the radio station get a commission for playing this song, Scully? Mulder asked as she pulled into the hospital's parking lot, having insisted on being the driver.  
  
She smiled, turning down the volume. It's new. People like it. Maybe it's a sign.  
  
A sign, eh, Scully? I thought you didn't believe in the paranormal?  
  
She gave him her patented Scully-look before shaking her head and pulling into an empty spot. Unfastening her seat belt, she glanced in her side mirror and froze. Oh my God.  
  
Mulder asked in concern. Are you okay?  
  
Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Mulder, don't turn around. Look in the mirror.  
  
Confused, he did as told and when he noticed her observation, they exchanged a look. What the hell is he doing here?  
  
He was in the hospital, Mulder. I didn't think I hit him that bad, though. She looked slightly pleased with herself, and he smiled.  
  
You're not going to tell me what happened, are you?  
  
  
  
Not even a hint?  
  
Uh-uh. You can see all you need to know. She nodded for him to look more closely.  
  
Old man's probably craving nicotine, he remarked as a nurse helped Cancer Man from his wheelchair. Men in black stood nearby, ready to help him to his car. He nodded to the nurse, who took that as her dismissal and reentered the hospital. Then he thrust out a hand in expectation, and one of the men handed him a pack of Morley's. He put a cigarette in his mouth, grabbing for the anticipated lighter and inhaled deeply as the smoke filled his lungs.  
  
Mulder watched the scene with amusement, though something wasn't quite sitting right with him; something was different. Then he realized what it was. Hey, Scully, our Smoking Man has turned into a left-hander. Look at the way he's holding the cancer stick.  
  
Scully only smiled.  
  
Mulder looked at her curiously and watched as the men got into a big, dark car. Mulder caught a glimpse of white as the door shut after the old man. His mouth curved into an incredulous smile as he turned to Scully. You didn't.  
  
It seemed the most logical target, she said lightly.  
  
You shot that bastard's hand up, he said in approval.  
  
He can shove those Morley's where the sun don't shine, she commented. But he's gonna have a hell of time time trying.  
  
Mulder laughed then, a loud, honest sound that echoed pleasantly in her ears. She joined him, both wondering when the last time was that they had really laughed, especially together.  
  
As Cancer Man's car was driven away, Mulder gave his partner's hand a squeeze. Let's go.  
  
She nodded, and with a deep breath, joined her partner outside the car, hands held tightly as they headed for Oncology.  
  
***  
  
I wanna be there in the pouring rain  
I wanna be there when you call my name  
I'm gonna light your fire, I'm gonna feel your flame  
I wanna be there when you go insane  
I wanna be there when I'm out of town  
And when your whole damn world is crashing down  
I'm gonna be your lover, gonna be your friend  
Wanna be there till the end....  
  
Our song, Mulder thought drowsily the next morning as he lay beside Scully in the crisp morning air, remembering the haze of the previous night.  
  
The doctors had put a rush on the MRI, rechecking it several times. They had even insisted on taking another, just to be sure of the inexplicable remission. But after a few hours of intense scrutiny, there had been no doubt about it--the tumor was shrinking.  
  
After a tight hug of relief with her partner, Dana had called her mother from her cell phone, while Mulder used his to inform Skinner. Within in hour, Dana and Mulder were at Maggie's home, along with brother Bill, celebrating their much-prayed-for miracle.  
  
There had been tension between Dana and her brother, Mulder reflected, glancing at the rising sun, but as soon as he had gone up to Bill and shook his hand, all was forgiven. Bill apologized, finally understanding what his mother had explained to him over a month earlier. And observing the protective way in which Mulder watched his sister--without hovering, Bill acknowledged to himself--he saw a bit of that special bond of which Maggie had spoken.  
  
Several helpings of dinner and way too much wine later, they had all collapsed on the couch, laughing and talking, almost like a normal family. It had been Dana's idea to camp out back, and though Maggie and Bill had declined the offer, Mulder was all for it, eagerly helping set up the tent, laughing when it had collapsed on them in a heap.  
  
Settling for sleeping bags, they'd fallen asleep under the stars, but not before they'd talked half the night away. Mulder saw a side of his partner he'd never been shown before, a happy, relaxed, carefree personality, and he realized with a quickening of his pulse, it was a side of her which he almost never got to know.  
  
Their conversation had ranged from amusing childhood tales to more thought-provoking, soul-bearing concerns. There was one subject, however, that had remained untouched, though not unfelt. Mulder perched himself on his elbow to look at his partner, surprised to find her awake, watching the sunrise as he had been.  
  
It's beautiful, isn't it? she asked, remembering the numerous times she and her siblings had camped in similar backyards, watching similar sunrises. But their commonality did not take away any of this morning's ethereal beauty; in fact, this sunrise seemed twice as lovely as any other, knowing she had almost lost her chance to see more. You're not out of the woods yet, she tried to remind herself, but her heart wouldn't listen. She had a hunch for this one, a feeling which she was sure her family, including Mulder, shared--she was going to make it.  
  
It's amazing, Mulder remarked, wondering if this was another miracle displayed only for them to enjoy. I've always been so wrapped up in my work, I never bothered to notice some of the little things.  
  
She smiled at him. I don't intend to miss them anymore, Mulder.  
  
He reached for her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. Neither do I, Scully.  
  
They each resettled on their backs, watching the sky turn from a collage of brilliant color to the light blue dawn. When the sun had risen, Dana released her partner's hand, sitting cross-legged on top of her sleeping bag. Mulder followed suit, facing her.  
  
There's a lot of things that seemed little, Dana began, until I thought I was going to die. Then it seemed too late.  
  
I know, he answered quietly, looking intently into her dawn-blue eyes.  
  
She smiled, noting the cross still dutifully around his neck. She touched it briefly, saying, I was trying to explain something with this, Mulder.  
  
I know, he repeated, taking the hand which had reached for the cross and running a light thumb over the back of it. His thumb found the bracelet as he continued, I was trying to say some things, too.  
  
Why are we so afraid? she asked, honestly unsure.  
  
I think we're each afraid of hurting the other. And being rejected, he added silently.  
  
I think that if we live our lives without risks, we're not really living at all.  
  
He grinned, taking the bait. And you think that flukeman thing wasn't risky?  
  
She shook her head, laughing. So, are you gonna kiss me or not?  
  
What if your mom's watching?  
  
Let her watch.  
  
What if Cancer Man has us under surveillance?  
  
He can't hold the camera and push the button at the same time, she said, trying to hold a straight face.  
  
he continued with a grin, what if little gray men are wandering around with mechanical cockroaches--  
  
Okay, okay, she laughed, putting both hands on his chest and pushing him backwards. Everyone's watching, so let's not disappoint them.  
  
He returned her smile, and wrapped his arms around her warm body, feeling her light breathing against his face, their lips only inches apart. I don't want to lose you, Dana, he said seriously.  
  
I'm not going anywhere, she assured him, a gentle hand running through his hair. We're in this together.  
  
Mulder succeeded for once in ignoring his guilt, allowing their lips to meet, to feel her alive against his body. He knew then it didn't matter if the EBE in the Yukon had been a fake; Scully was all that mattered right then. The X-Files were still a big driving force in his life, but he realized that answers would not be found on some one-man, suicide mission. It was together that they would find the truth; but this time, they wouldn't lose each other in the process.  
  
THE END


End file.
